Searching in my drawer, I had to find a photograph of you. Were you really quite like I remember? Cold Decembers on a pier, a can of beer between us. We were dreaming on the railing of sailing on our own into the sunset: an orange one with palm trees, dolphins bouncing round the boat. We'd live on coconuts, I'd build a hut in wood and grass. Strong enough to last us through the storm, keep us warm. Why did our dream have to die? Tell me why. You were out there with me. You felt the breeze past through your hair, held a seashell to your ear, fearless, flying higher in a world built just for us. No visitors, nothing there to hurt us. So why did you run away? No explanation, no communication, not a word. Just a square inch in the paper said you took your life - what a waste. Weren't you just a little hasty? God, what a pitiful waste. Why did our dream have to die? I don't know why. You could have picked a graceful method: died like Cleopatra, where no scars remain. A tube train just does nothing for your figure. My disfigured princess! Do you watch me through the night? Are you watching now? Well, I'd like to join you, but I haven't got the courage. But my dream lives on, will never die, never die. On and on forever.